


But You're Quicksand

by fishyspots



Category: Glee
Genre: And that's all this fic is, BadBoy!Blaine, M/M, Sorry Not Sorry, nerd!Kurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-31
Updated: 2012-12-31
Packaged: 2017-11-23 03:41:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/617692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishyspots/pseuds/fishyspots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My entry for myklainecorner's Secret Santa gift over on tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But You're Quicksand

Kurt pushed up his glasses, leaning in closer to his book. He dropped his arm to turn the page, and knocked a textbook off of his precariously high stack. He sighed deeply, bending in his seat to retrieve the Advanced Biology tome from a perilous fate of death by trampling, only to be pushed from his seat by a Neanderthal in a red jacket. The dunderheaded baseball player even had the audacity to sweep the remainder of his books from the table onto the shitty linoleum flooring as well, cackling and fist-bumping his mindless cronies.

Kurt picked himself up and brushed himself off with a long suffering sigh; it was beginning to feel as if he was the school's official punching bag, and he wondered who had signed him up for such a position. It sucked.

Suddenly, one of Kurt's textbooks (Advanced Calculus, his next class) was snatched from before his very eyes. Kurt slowly looked up, resigned to the fate of his book and his impending fifty dollar fine that would come with its destruction. His eyes first landed upon a pair of scruffy and worn sneakers, followed by a torn and battered pair of (tight tight _tight_ ) jeans, leading to a fitted leather jacket, buttery and smooth. Kurt stopped his evaluation there; he did not know if he was courageous enough to initiate direct eye contact with this mysterious individual just yet.

"What's wrong, sweetheart? Is the library going out of business?" The mysterious stranger had a voice like melted honey, _oh god,_ Kurt had never heard such tones from any of the plebian citizens trolling the halls of McKinley. Was he a new student?

He had asked Kurt a question. _Damn._ What had he said, again?

"I-I'm-"

"Relax, sweetheart. I was just wondering why you had so many books in that stack. Are you stockpiling for some kind of intellectual Holocaust?"

Kidding. He was...joking. With _Kurt._ No one ever joked with him, not even his meager "motley crew" of friends; they took themselves far too seriously to ever joke about anything, usually preferring to discuss college choices and the merits of honors colleges over honors programs. 

Kurt hated his friends sometimes.

This stranger, though...he didn't even know Kurt, and he had already helped him collect his books, even organizing them into a neat stack, one that seemed much sturdier than Kurt's uneven tower had ever been. How had he never thought to put his Econ textbook on the bottom; _why had he never thought to put his Econ textbook on the bottom?_

Kurt blanched when he realized that he had neglected to answer his book savior. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose with one shaking hand. "N-no," He began softly, careful to keep his tone down after seeing the countless ejections from the library tables made by the crone of a librarian, Ms. Pond. "I...my locker was _decorated_ by a few jerks this morning, and the custodians can't deal with it until after school, so.."

The new kid's (he was new, right?) eyes widened, and his eyebrows disappeared into his hairline as Kurt spoke. "Surely you don't mean what I think you mean, do you?" He demanded, suddenly fierce and a bit frightening. 

Kurt found himself speechless; he was completely unable to string together more than two words, and the only words available to him at the moment were "um" and "uh." 

New Kid sighed, running a hand through his _unbelievable_ curls, and reached his other hand forward. "Blaine," he offered, slowly dropping his hand when Kurt simply stared at it confusedly. "I'm new."

Kurt smiled slightly, looking down before venturing, "Kurt," while looking up through his eyelashes, as though afraid of Blaine.

Blaine, for his part, simply rummaged through his pocket for a minute before pulling out a cardboard carton. He flipped the lid with practiced ease and withdrew a cigarette quickly, extending the box toward Kurt until he noticed Kurt subconsciously leaning back. "Smoke?" He asked, already knowing the answer.

"No, thank you. I enjoy possessing fully functional lungs." Kurt blushed; where had that come from? Regardless, it was true, and he stood by his statement.

Blaine chuckled, returning the package to his pocket and extracting a lighter. Before he could spin the wheel to emit flame, Ms. Pond descended upon them like a harpy, arms flailing with gusto as she began to usher them both toward the door while spewing more statistics about the dangers of nicotine addiction than a health textbook. 

Kurt winced as her enthusiastic pushing caused him to trip. He braced himself for another fall, _please not the left side, there's still a bruise from the dumpster dive yesterday_ but the fall never came. Blaine, who had been in front of him, had turned at the perfect moment to bear the brunt of the force and manage to keep his books upright. 

Blaine's angry eyes softened upon seeing Kurt's grateful gaze.

Kurt knew that if the football team saw the nerdy queer talking to a guy, _any guy,_ they wouldn't hesitate to douse him in flavored ice to effectively "cool his desire," and he didn't want Blaine to bear witness to any more humiliation. Kurt wasn't exactly sure what the protocol was for a speedy goodbye to a juvenile delinquent savior after being dismissed from a school library, but he settled for "Th-Thank you for saving my books, again." 

Blaine leaned up against the lockers on the wall, idly flicking his lighter on and off. "It was nothing."

Kurt believed him. Blaine had rescued his books, protecting them from some idiot's unknowing feet, or worse, being ripped apart by another self-important jock, and it was nothing. Blaine would probably forget about him by the time he started his motorcycle (did he have a motorcycle?) but Kurt, who was so rarely shown kindness, would remember Blaine's actions for much longer. Something in Kurt had been ignited when he had dared to speak freely with Blaine about cigarettes, and for once, the flame hadn't died with a punch or shove. Blaine didn't touch him (negatively) throughout the conversation, even when Kurt had disagreed with him.

Kurt sighed, coming out of his thoughts abruptly when he heard the unmistakable scratch of cleats on the floor. Time to go, then.

"Thanks again, Blaine," he offered, turning on his heel to escape what sounded like the entire baseball team coming in from practice. He quickly reached the end of the hallway and began to turn into a side hallway to put himself completely out of harm's way when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He peeked around and sighed in relief when his eyes landed upon Blaine once more instead of the meatheaded catcher. 

"What's the rush, beautiful?" Blaine asked, eyes twinkling. 

Kurt sucked in a deep breath, knees beginning to tremble. Perhaps he had misjudged Blaine. Maybe it was a new tradition to have the "promising" new students smear the queer with the sports team of their choice. He exhaled, immediately drawing in another shaky breath, trying to keep himself calm. He was being ridiculous. The only people in the hallway were Blaine and himself, and the scratching squeals ftom the cleats has faded as the team made their way to the locker room. Kurt turned around fully. "I don't...understand." He said slowly, hoping he didn't sound too "geeky." It wasn't his fault that the glasses and baggy sweaters were a stereotype. He was ineligible for contacts and his sweaters were _comfortable,_ damn it. 

Blaine moved his hand from Kurt's shoulder to his cheek, running his fingers across it lightly. "I wasn't finished talking to you, yet, sweetheart."

"Oh?" Kurt was honestly dumbfounded. No one had ever shown this much interest in him, bar his dad and occasionally his stepmom. At Christmas, one of his aunts had even forgotten his name. "I'm, I mean, I could-"

"It's okay, babe," Blaine mercifully cut off his stammered rambling before it could get too embarrassing. "I just want to know if you prefer coffee to my cancer sticks." He added with a smile.

Kurt found himself smiling softly. He was joking again. "Well, stunted growth is preferable to wheezing for the rest of my life." He stated shyly. 

Blaine smiled, a _real_ smile, and grabbed Kurt's books out of his arms. "Lima Bean?" He asked, already walking through the hallway. Kurt mentally shook himself and hurried after him. 

"Sounds perfect."

"Good. Do you have a ride?"

Kurt paused in his tracks, prompting Blaine to do the same. "N-no, my stepbrother was going to..."

"It's not a deal-breaker, Kurt," Blaine was quick to assuage Kurt's insecurities.

"Really?"

"Really. I can give you a ride." Blaine resumed walking, leading Kurt out to the parking lot and to a beaten up clunker of a truck. He opened the backseat and gingerly deposited Kurt's books before opening the driver's side door and starting the ignition. 

Kurt, for his part, watched Blaine's actions, nearly dumbstruck. At Blaine's inquisitive gaze, he mentally shook himself and opened the passenger's side door, jumping in without abandon.

"Ready?"

"Ready."


End file.
